Ah, the two sweetest words you can possibly write. The. End. Just send shivers down your spine, don't they? I got to write them for the first time on a novel two nights ago and I'm still glowing.
Now if only I were actually done.
Sadly, I feel more like a fraud. How dare I write such sacred words at the end of such a Swiss-cheese plot? "The End"? Please! Doesn't matter that it's a 102,000 word monstrosity of a YA novel (which are generally much more saleable at half that length) or that I finally, finally got to write (one of) the ending(s) I've been scheming about for too many months to feel proud about. Am I just going to ignore the dangling loose ends? The subplots that got abandoned halfway through? The subplots that popped up out of nowhere right at the end? What about the main plot... which one was that again?
If I were a weaver and my story a rug, I'd fold it up in a trunk and never let it see the light of day.
Which is why it's still a WIP, and not yet a MS. And, since I'm not a weaver, I can get out my scissors and Spackle and, if the crick don't rise, have it looking presentable... someday... and I don't even have to unravel the whole blasted thing first!
But at least I got to write "The End"!